


QGMG&AL JACOB DOLSON < 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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GENERAL JACOB DOLSON COX 



EARLY LIFE AND MILITARY SERVICES 



WILLIAM C. COCHRAN 



OBERLIN, OHIO 
THE BIBl,IOTHECA SACRA COMPANY 



GENERAL JACOB DOLSON COX 



EARLY LIFE AND MILITARY SERVICES 



WILLIAM C. COCHRAN 



OBERI.IN, OHIO 
THE BIBWOTHECA SACRA COMPANY 



Copyright, igoi 



Jift. 






EARLY LIFE AND MILITARY SERVICES OF 
GENERAL JACOB DOLSON COX.i 

BY WIi;,LIAM C. COCHRAN. 

Because we do not know on what meat our Caesars feed, 
we often fail to derive the inspiration we should from the 
lives of ancient heroes and statesmen. If we do not know 
the exact conditions under which their lives were wrought 
out and success achieved, or if such conditions differ essen- 
tially from those of to-day, we are not apt to look to them 
for guiding principles by which to shape our own lives. 
If we find that a successful man had great advantages in 
early life, such as wealth, noble birth, or the commanding 
influence of family, we are apt to say, " That explains his 
success," and to look no further. Washington, whose na- 
tal day we celebrate, was of distinguished lineage, inherited 
a large estate, and was indebted to the influence of his fam- 
ily for a major's commission at the age of nineteen, and 
his appointment as commander-in-chief of the Virginia 
forces at the age of twenty-three. How can a young man 
without wealth or influence hope to emulate the life of 
Washington? He is apt to overlook the sterling qualities 
and marked individuality of the man, as developed in after 
life, to which alone he owes the greatest title ever con- 
ferred on mortal man, "First in War, First in Peace, and 
First in the Hearts of his Countrymen." On the other 
hand, no boy born of honest parents ever had a poorer 
"start in life" than Abraham Lincoln. Not one of us can 
say, " I could be as great as he was, if I had his advan- 
tages.'''' 

^ A patriotic address delivered at Oberlin, Ohio, February 22, 1901. 

3 



The subject of this sketch is another man, who, without 
any advantages of birth or fortune, without any excep- 
tional opportunities, achieved distinction in half a dozen 
walks of life, wholly unrelated to each other, and served 
his country well in its greatest hour of need. His career 
suggests the following questions : How did it happen that 
a man who had no professional training and no aspirations 
for military glory, became a Major-General and the most 
illustrious volunteer officer that the war produced? How 
did it happen that a man who had not been in the State of 
Ohio for eighteen months, and did not know so much as 
the names of party "bosses," was nominated for Governor 
of Ohio by acclamation in June, 1865? How did it hap- 
pen that a man who had voluntarily turned his back on 
politics and devoted himself to the practice of his profession 
was appointed Secretary of the Interior in 1869? How 
did it happen that a man who had no previous railway ex- 
perience and no capital, was elected President of one of 
the great trunk lines of railway in the fall of 1873? How 
did it happen that a man who had not made teaching his 
profession, was tendered the presidency of five different 
colleges, and became President of the University of Cin- 
cinnati in 1885? How did it happen that a man who was 
not a professional scientist, put to shame German profess- 
ors, and won the gold medal of honor for excellence in 
micro-photography at the Antwerp Exposition in 1891? 
How did it happen that a man who had retired from pub- 
lic life for more than eighteen years was tendered the 
Spanish Mission on the eve of the Spanish-American war, 
and was almost forced, against his will, to accept that re- 
sponsible position? These are interesting questions. I 
shall not be able to answer them in detail. The very di- 
versity of his employments and achievements makes it 
difficult to review them in a single address. I can, how- 
ever, bring out some of the facts and guiding principles of 

4 



his early life which throw light on his subsequent career, 
and tend to explain his success. 

Jacob Dolson Cox was born in Montreal, Canada, Octo- 
ber 27, 1828. His parents were both native-born citizens 
of the United States. His mother traced her ancestry 
back to Elder William Brewster, of "Mayflower" impor- 
tation, and many strains of early New England blood 
were mingled in her veins. His father, Jacob Dolson Cox, 
the first of that name, was of German descent, though born 
in New York. He was a carpenter and builder of great 
industry and ingenuity, and had achieved a reputation for 
his skill in building churches and warehouses, and in roof- 
ing great areas without using internal columns of support. 
This reputation led to his selection, at the age of thirty- 
three, to superintend the roof construction and carpenter 
work on the great church of Notre Dame, at Montreal. 
His integrity, and sense of honor, equaled his skill. 

The s'ubject of this sketch inherited from the Coxes his 
personal appearance, his thoughtfulness, his gentleness, 
his inflexible integrity, and his unassuming bearing, save 
when some important work required driving. He inherit- 
ed from his mother ^ a puritan conscience and religious 
sentiment, combined with neatness and refinement, a love 
of art and music, and that sprightliness of temperament 
which enabled him to converse with ease and to speak and 
write with fluency and power. We justly attach much im- 
portance to heredity and environment in estimating a 
man's life and character, but they, alone, fail to explain 
any great man. A man is quite as apt to waste his inher- 
itance of good traits and character as he is to squander a 
money inheritance. On the other hand, every great man 
develops qualities which are peculiarly his own. I have 
searched the family records with great care, but am bound 
to report that I am unable to find in any of his ancestors 
^ Thedia Redelia Kenyon. 
5 



since William Brewster, professional attainments, scholar- 
ship, statesmanship, military genius, executive ability, or 
scientific research, such as distinguished General Cox 
above most of his fellow-men. There was not a bad citi- 
zen among all his ancestors ; but the virtues were chiefly 
negative. 

His father returned to New York City in December, 
1829, ^^^^ entered on a prosperous career as a builder and 
contractor. Dolson's early education was rather desultory 
and incomplete. A few terms at a private school,^ — where 
he was taught French as an extra, — a year of study under 
a classically educated minister, and private reading and 
study, under the partial direction of a Columbia College 
student, constitute the whole of his preparation for college. 
He never thought the world owed him a living, and on his 
fourteenth birthday entered a law office in New York City 
as an articled clerk. ^ Here he became familiar with legal 
forms, and studied law. Two years later he entered the 
office of a Wall Street broker,^ and became versed in book- 
keeping and the methods of business. He was, moreover, 
gaining almost unconsciously a broad education in all that 
relates to the affairs of men by his daily walks up and 
down Broadway and along the wharves, then crowded with 
shipping from all parts of the world, and by listening to 
the talk of lawyers and prominent business men. He had 
for a long time a passionate desire to become a sailor, and 
finally got permission to go on a voyage with a captain of 
good reputation. He packed his "kit," stowed it on board, 
and then, as the Captain said he would not sail for several 
hours, he went down to Staten Island to take a last farewell 
of his family. When he returned — all in good time — the 

^ This school was kept by Rufus Ivockwood. 

2 The office of Gouverneur M. Ogden, a reputable attorney, whose fa- 
ther was then Surrogate of New York. 

3 Anthony L,ane. 



vessel was gone, the Captain having decided to take ad- 
vantage of a favoring breeze and to leave at an earlier 
hour. It was a great blow ; but, when he reflected on the 
grief his mother had shown at their parting, and the 
steady disapproval of his father, he accepted the event as 
a providential indication, and renounced forever his inten- 
tion to follow the sea. 

In the spring of 1842, Rev. Samuel D. Cochran, a grad- 
uate of Oberlin College (class of '39) and Seminary (class 
of '42), was, on the recommendation of Charles G. Fin- 
ney, invited by Lewis Tappan and others to go to New 
York City and establish a Congregational church. He 
met with great opposition from the local clergy, who re- 
garded Oberlin theology as rank heresy, but succeeded, in 
spite of them, in attracting large congregations and build- 
ing up a church. He was a man of positive convictions; 
his logic was flawless ; and he had a great warm heart and 
tender emotions. He began holding meetings in the hall 
of a medical college in Crosby Street, above Prince, and, 
as this was near by, the Coxes attended his services, and 
the mother and two oldest daughters joined his church 
soon after. 

In the winter of 1842-43, Mi: Cochran arranged for a 
series of revival meetings at Niblo's Theater, in which he 
was assisted by Mr. Finney. One evening after an 
impressive sermon by Mr. Finney, all who wished to give 
their hearts to God were asked to come forward. A tall 
stripling arose in the rear of the theater and, finding the 
aisles blocked by the people, came leaping down to the 
front, using the backs of the seats as stepping-stones. His 
emotion was so great when he got there that he could not 
speak, nor even give his name. It was Jacob D. Cox. To 
all outward appearance this speechless emotion was the 
only immediate result of Mr. Finney's preaching ; but, 
under the preaching and influence of Mr. Cochran, he was 

7 



baptized, and joined the church the following fall, when 
there was no special religious excitement, and, after his 
failure to go to sea, resolved to study for the ministry. 

A full classical education was, at that time, regarded as an 
essential qualification. No short-cut, such as an " English 
Course in Theology," was conceived of as possible. It was 
still thought that the minister should be the most learned 
man in his community, as he had been, for the most part, 
during more than two centuries of New England history. 
So, in the spring of 1846, he and his younger brother, 
Kenyon, started for Oberlin College. How came they to 
this place? Oberlin had no glee club, no football team, 
no baseball team, alumni associations, endowment, or fine 
buildings, at that time ; and yet the attendance was nearly 
as large in 1846, thirteen years after it was founded, as it 
was in 1900. The great attractions were the moral earn- 
estness of the student body, the cheapness of living, the 
opportunities for self-support in whole or in part, — a prime 
consideration with Dolson, — and it was the place where 
Mr. Finney preached and taught.^ When the boys ar- 
rived, after a long and wearisome journey, and were as- 
signed to a room in Colonial Hall, the dismal downpour of 
rain, the crude aspect of the place, and their utter loneli- 
ness overcame them, as they were unpacking, and both 
broke down and wept. It seemed as though neither had 
been so wretchedly unhappy before. Kenyon went to bed, 
sick : but Dolson went to the Treasurer's office and applied 
for work. In an hour's time he was regaining his compo- 
sure at the bottom of a cistern, which he had been hired 
to clean out. Siudlia similibiis curantiir ! When letters 
of introduction they had brought from their pastor to Mr. 
Finney and to Mrs. Elizabeth Cole had been presented 
and they had been warmly welcomed, and when the regu- 

^ So great was Mrs. Cox's love and regard for Mr. Finnej' that she 
named her youngest son, born January 16, 1846, Charles Finney Cox. 



lar routine of study and recitation began, their wonted 
cheerfulness returned. Owing to incomplete preparation, 
Dolson entered the Junior Preparatory class. He was, 
however, so far ahead of his class in many things, and so 
apt in learning, that he could give more time than his fel- 
lows to outside reading, music, and debate. 

He inherited from his mother a love of music, and he 
studied violin and harmony with Professor George N. Al- 
len.^ He had a rich baritone voice of wide compass, and 
joined the noble choir. He was soon made assistant^con- 
ductor, and often led the choir, violin in hand. 

All his work as a student was stamped with the one 
word thorough. He shirked nothing. He went to the 
root of every matter that was discussed, and mastered every 
subject that was taught. The value of his "picked-up 
education" was most apparent in his society work. He 
early joined Phi Delta and, from the first, became its lead- 
ing and most active member. His fund of general infor- 
mation was superior to that of most of his fellows, and he 
was an insatiable reader. He could throw additional light 
on almost every subject that was discussed, and he spoke 
readily and fluently. He was a keen debater, logical and 
forcible in presenting his side of a question, and quick to 
see and expose the weak points in his opponent's argu- 
ment. But ready as he was, he always strove to improve. 
Many fail in the art of compressing themselves ; others, in 
the duty of r.?pressing themselves. He studied both. 

I find two letters written by him during his college days. 
In the first, dated September, 1846, we see clearly the in- 
fluence of the Oberlin spirit — of that day. He announces 
that he has engaged a school for the winter, and adds : — 

"In the district where I am going they have no church, 
nor any church meeting that I know of ; and, as I cannot 

1 Professor of Sacred Music, as well as of Geology and Natural History, 
and the founder of Oberlin's Department of Music. 

9 



of course be sure that I will have any other opportunities 
of doing good than those which I may have here (for you 
know I cannot be sure of living even to complete my 
course), I feel as though this is all for the best, for in it I 
shall be about my Father's business. So for the winter 
you may just consider me as at work in a little missionary 
field, and I pray God I may be enabled to do my duty." 

In this boy, eighteen years of age, we find the sense of 
duty which actuated the man in all his after life. 

In the second, addressed to his father, September i8, 
1848, he says, in answer to a pressing invitation to spend 
the winter at home : — 

"I hardly dare trust myself to think of home, for fear I 
shall not be contented where I am.^ As to my health, the 
state of the case is simply this. I used myself up in 
teaching last winter. I was tired by study when I com- 
menced, and the care of one hundred scholars was by 
no means calculated to rest either mind or body. I 
came back exhausted and have not been strong since. . . . 
In my anxiety to pay my way here, I consented to take 
charge of the bread-baking for the boarding-hall, and this 
I think has done me no good ; the heat, added to the labor, 
which is the hardest I ever did, has been too much for me. 
I have now, however, determined to give it up immedi- 
ately. ... I dread to think of being any more of a burden 
to you than I have been. Nor can I think of giving up 
my course of study. It is with me both choice and duty 
to continue it, and that here — for I am well convinced that 
it can be done here much clieaper, and in some respects 
with much better results to both mind and body, than in 
almost any other place." 

In answer to some doubts expressed by his father as to 
the wholesomeness of Mr. Finney's preaching, he says : — 

"Yesterday [Sabbath] and also a week ago. Professor Fin- 
ney preached the most impressive sermons I ever heard in 
my life. I never so fully realized the power of eloquence 

' His brother Kenyoii had gone home the winter before, and never re- 
turned. He went into a broker's office, and worked his way up to the 
head of one of the most prominent banking houses on Wall Street. 

10 



before. No description could give any idea of it. I wish 
you were personally acquainted with him. If you could 
see him around every day and mark his entire consistency 
and childlike simplicity of character, combined with such 
a powerful intellect, you could not think for a moment of 
comparing him with those who are deluding and leading 
astray the people.^ He lives what he preaches, and there is 
nothing like austerity about him. In his family he is all 
pleasantness — sings and plays with his children and is as 
one of them. Some of the pleasantest hours I ever spent 
have been passed with him in his family. He is passion- 
ately fond of music, and we can at any time make up a 
choir in the family." 

The letter suggests a growing intimacy with the family, 
and the pleasant hours were not all spent with Mr. Fin- 
ney. The oldest daughter of Mr. Finney, who would have 
graduated at the age of seventeen if she had not given up 
her course to marry Professor William Cochran and go with 
him to New York City, had returned to her father's house 
— a widow at the age of nineteen. She had a little son who 
was six months old at the time this letter was written. 
Some of the "pleasantest hours" of his life were spent in 
her society, and even the baby proved a strong attraction 
to the young man, who had not seen his own home and 
his baby brother for more than two years. There were 
doubtless wise people in Oberlin in those days — as there 
have been since — who noted the signs of the times and 
foretold just what these young people were coming to ; but 
they did not know it, until the end of the fall term, 1848, 
when Dolson came to bid Helen good-by, on the eve of his 
journey home, and the emotions of both, at parting, were 
too strong to be concealed. He went home an engaged 
ijian — engaged at the age of twenty, to a widow with one 
child. This insured his return in the spring. 

Dolson kept with his class until the fall of 1849. He 
then felt that he must either go faster, or abandon his 
1 The allusion is to Miller and the Second Adventists. 



course and seek employment. One of the reasons for this 
feeling was the fact that his father, whose business had 
been falling off owing to the great panic of 1847, had gone 
to California in a desperate attempt to retrieve his fortunes, 
and the outcome of this venture no one could foresee. Mr. 
Finney came to the rescue; and it was agreed that, at the 
end of the fall term, 1849, ^^ should be married and make 
his home at the Finney house, study during the winter, 
take the last two years of his course in one, and begin the 
study of theology in the fall of 1850. Mr. Finney then 
started for England, to labor as an evangelist for two or 
three years. On Thanksgiving Day, 1849, Dolson took 
upon himself the cares of a husband and father in the pres- 
ence of two thousand people, who assembled in the First 
Church to see him married. Dr. John Morgan performed 
the ceremony. Recitations ceased ; but study went on 
apace. At the end of the vacation and at the end of each 
term he was examined in the studies pursued by the Senior 
class and his own class, and passed. He began the study 
of Theology, and had made satisfactory progress in Greek 
and Hebrew Exegesis, Harmony, etc., and was deep in the 
intricacies of Systematic Theology, when Mr. Finney re- 
turned in May, 1851. Mr. Finney had had a wonderful 
series of revivals in England, and converts were made by 
tens of thousands. Coming back, worn out by his labors, 
he was disturbed to find a young man in his own family 
digging deep about the very foundations of religion. Dol- 
son was studying those problems, 

" Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate — 
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute," 

which every man who essays to be the religious guide of 
others should work out, at some time and in some way, for 
himself. He was debating these questions with himself 
and with others with intense earnestness. His whole fu- 
ture depended upon his finding sure ground on which to 



stand. It is possible that there was more of the debater^ 
than the seeker after trtith^ in his manner, and that when 
he was testing doctrines he seemed rather to wish to over- 
throw them. Be that as it may, there came a day, late in 
the summer, when Mr. Finney said to him, after a partic- 
ularly warm discussion, " Dolson, you are not honest. You 
do not ivant to see the truth." If he had stabbed the 
young man, he could not have hurt him more. In that 
awful moment he saw all his hopes and ambition dashed 
to earth. If theology was not a science permitting of free 
inquiry and intellectual apprehension, he could go no fur- 
ther. Whether it was or not, the word spoken had made 
it impossible for him to continue studying in Oberlin, or 
to remain in his father's house. No man, then, or there- 
after, in all his long and useful life, had the right to call 
Jacob D. Cox dishonest. Dependence upon a man who 
could think him so, was intolerable. Dr. Morgan, who 
was present and saw the deadly effect of the words uttered, 
said, with trembling voice, " Brother Finney, Brother Fin- 
ney, you must not say that. I believe Dolson is honest"; 
and for these kind words uttered in the hour of greatest 
anguish he had ever known, General Cox held Dr. Morgan 
in loving remembrance ever after. But the blow had 
fallen. Dolson applied immediately for the position of 
Superintendent of Public Schools in Warren, Ohio, of 
which he chanced to hear, secured it, and left Oberlin with 
his wife, his adopted son, and a little girl of his own, then 
about a year old.^ 

1 In justice to Mr. Finney, it must belaid that he probably never real- 
ized what a wound he had inflicted. He always manifested a fatherly 
solicitude for the young man and his family, called on him frequently 
when passing to and fro on his journeys East, tendered financial assist- 
ance when the pinch of poverty was felt, left his daughter, Julia, in their 
care for a year or more at a time, and expressed an ever-growing regard 
for his son-in-law. Ihey discussed freely professional ethics, politics, 
the practical affairs of life; but Theology was never again the subject of 
their conversation. 

13 



If there had been more patience on one side, or less sen- 
sitiveness on the other, matters might not have reached 
this crisis ; he might have solved his doubts as many an- 
other honest man has done, as Mr. Finney himself did after 
three years of anxious questioning, during which he was 
regarded as a dangerous infidel, and Jacob D, Cox might 
have been one of the most polished, cultured, and able 
preachers of his generation. But preaching is not the on- 
ly service God calls man to do for his fellow-men. It is 
not certain even that it is the highest service. At any 
rate, God reserved this man for other service, which no 
preacher would have had a chance to render, in the great 
conflict which was near at hand. 

Warren was a pleasant village of about two thousand in- 
habitants, and boasted, in good New England fashion, of 
its ancestry, culture, and refinement. While teaching, he 
studied law, and in the summer of 1853 he began its prac- 
tice. The bar of Warren was at this time quite noted for 
ability and high professional standing. It included such 
men as Matthew Birchard and Rufus P. Ranney, ex-judges 
of the Supreme Court of Ohio; Milton Sutliff, elected Su- 
preme Court judge under the new constitution ; John 
Hutchins and E. B. Taylor, afterward members of Con- 
gress ; and a number of others who would have taken high 
rank at any bar in the State. The struggle of the young 
man to acquire a practice against such odds was severe and 
protracted, and he felt the pinch of poverty for three years, 
before he was cheered with the prospect of professional 
success. In one of his letters he writes : — 

" It's slow business working into a practice which will 
enable me to live comfortably. . . . Our profession seems 
to be a practical exemplification of the old saw that 'one 
shouldn't go into the water till he knows how to swim.' 
A lawyer cannot get business till he is doing a great deal 
of it. . . . To do a great deal of business without having 
it to do ; to show people that you can do it, although you 

14 



have none of it to do the showing with ; and thus to ob- 
tain a practice, which nevertheless you must have before 
people will give it to you ! There ! Do you comprehend 
that?" 

He had, however, no thought of giving up, or turn- 
ing aside from his profession, and in 1856 the tide set in, 
which, for five years, bore him steadily on toward fortune 
and professional eminence. 

His energy was never limited to the bread-and-butter 
work of the day. As he said, in one of his letters, — 

"My life of business and public activity is a thing by 
itself, and I have another life of thought, study, feeling, 
which I keep apart from the first jealously." 

If he had allowed his duties as teacher to absorb all 
his time and strength, he would not have become a 
lawyer. If he had idled away his time while waiting 
for practice, or had allowed his law practice, when it 
came, to monopolize his time, he would never have 
become a scholar, a writer, a general, or a statesman. 
He led the chorus choir of twelve or fifteen voices in the 
Presbyterian Church. He organized and led for years the 
Choral Union. He found an old-school physician who 
could play the flute, and a homeopathic physician who 
played the violin, and he accomplished the seeming im- 
possibility of making them dwell together in harmony sev- 
eral hours each week. They met usually at his house ; he 
took down his own violin ; and together they played such 
trios as they could find, or adapt for their instruments. 

His fullness of information, readiness of speech, and en- 
thusiasm for everything that tended to the public good 
were so well known that he was frequently called on for 
public addresses on all sorts of occasions, and he rarely re- 
fused to respond. In the year 1853, alone, he delivered an 
address on "Music" before a Band Convention held at 
Warren; an address on "Fairs" before the Trumbull Ag- 

15 



ricultural Society, at the opening of their new fair grounds, 
and a lecture on the " Emancipation of Science" before the 
Columbiana County Teachers' Association, at Salem. 
These were all carefully prepared, packed with informa- 
tion, abounding in philosophical reflections, and perfect in 
their literary finish. 

He studied the Pitman system of shorthand and became 
an expert reporter, taking down the testimony of witnesses, 
the charge of the Court, etc., in cases where he was not 
formally retained and his name did not appear as "of 
counsel."^ His readiness to serve "without rank or emol- 
uments" gained him many friends, and led to fuller op- 
portunity later on. In the spring of 1854 he organized 
the "Home Literary Union," composed of six or seven 
married men and their wives, and eight or ten unmarried 
people of both sexes. The "Union" met, fortnightly, dur- 
ing the fall and winter, at the homes of the members, and 
the programs consisted of music, essays, poems, discussions, 
games, and an " Anonymous Box," to which, under the 
seal of secrecy as to authorship, the members contributed 
such little squibs as did not deserve the formal title of es- 
says. Not all of the members were writers. Generous 
appreciation is ever the complement of genuine effort. 
There must be ears to hear, as well as words to speak, and 
responsive applause, if such a society is to be stimulating. 
Mr. Cox was the leading spirit, and he contributed several 
articles each year. In response to inquiries, fourteen man- 
uscripts in his handwriting have been sent to me by those 

^In 1855 tie attended and reported a debate on "Spiritualism " between 
J. Tiffany and Rev. Isaac Errett of the Disciples Church, which attracted 
much attention at the time. The debate lasted ten days, and there were 
two sessions of two and a half hours each, every day. He reported the 
whole, wrote it all out, and published it in a volume of 417 clost-ly print- 
ed pages (octavo) within three months. It is an interesting book for the 
student of the spiritualistic movement; but its chief value to us is as a 
monument to the patience, skill, and unflagging industry of Jacob D. Cox. 

l6 



who have treasured them for more than forty years. How 
many more were written and lost will never be known. 
The "Union" lasted from the spring of 1854 to the fall of 
i860, when the shadow that overhung the greater " Union" 
blotted out the lesser. 

In all this life there is not a suggestion of war, or prep- 
aration for strife. The men were cultivating the graces 
and refinements of life in the society of cultured and ami- 
able women. They were neither hazing nor being hazed. 
They were not making brutes of themselves, or of others. 
Yet when the shock of battle came, this little "Union" at 
Warren furnished four splendid officers, whose records will 
compare favorably with those of any four turned out of 
West Point during the same period. One became a major- 
general, commanded the Ninth and Twenty-third Army 
Corps, and demonstrated his ability to command an army 
of any size on any field ; two became brigadier-generals 
and brevet major-generals;^ one was a colonel of cavalry 
and brevet brigadier-general.^ Of the others, one served 
four years in Congress as the immediate successor of Joshua 
R. Giddings;'^ one has served for fifteen years in the Su- 
preme Court of Ohio;^ one became Chancellor of the Uni- 
versity of Kansas;^ one became general counsel of the 
Cleveland and Pittsburg Railroad, and moved to Cleve- 
land;® and another became the head of a wholesale dry- 
goods house in Cleveland.'' Was it merely a happy chance 
that so many of this little club rose to eminence in after 
life, or was there something in their training and associa- 
tions that fitted them for grave crises, high responsibili- 
ties, and the everlasting struggle between right and wrong? 

Mr. Cox took an active part in politics. He assisted in 
organizing the Republican party in Warren, and stumped 

^ General M. D. Leggett and General Emerson Opdycke. 
2 General Robert W. Ratliff, « John Hutchins. ■* William T, Spear, 
5 James Marvin. ^ Henry C. Ranney. '' Comfort Adams. 

17 



Trumbull and the adjoining counties in the Presidential 
campaign of 1856. In 1859 ^^ was nominated for the 
Ohio Senate, in spite of his earnest protest. He was forced 
to run, and was duly elected. Among his associates were 
James Monroe and James A. Garfield. These three were 
known as the "Radical Triumvirate," and took a leading 
part in shaping legislation and in the exciting debates that 
marked the session just preceding the Civil War. 

We may glance at his personal appearance as he crossed 
the threshold of public life and became an object of inter- 
est to others than his fellow-townsmen. He was just six 
feet in height — -very erect and very slender — his weight 
about one hundred and forty-five pounds. His hair was 
fine, dark brown, worn rather long, and always brushed 
with scrupulous care. His beard was full and, when al- 
lowed to grow long, became wavy. His complexion^ was 
clear, and quite pale, the veins showing at the temple. 
His features were clear-cut and refined. His prominent 
brow betokened deep thought. The searching, deep-set eye 
was that of a man who saw everything, and saw clearly. 
The acuteness of his perception was remarkable. If a pic- 
ture was hung slightly out of plumb, an ornament mis- 
placed, or the order of his books changed on a shelf, he 
saw it the moment he entered the room. He was active 
in his habits, and quick and graceful in his movements. 
He never lounged, except when seriously ill, and never 
dawdled along the street. He walked from his home in 
the suburbs to his office at a four-mile gait, and covered 
great distances in his Saturday and Sunday afternoon walks 
through the woods. Even then there was an air of distinc- 
tion about the man, — an air which grows upon every man 

8 Fullness of habit and the too florid complexion came with old age 
and exposure to wind and sun, in his summer cruises along the New 
England coast. 

18 



whose thoughts go beyond his immediate surroundings, 
and rise above the level of mere bread-winning. 

At Columbus he met Governor William Dennison, one 
of the most courteous and refined gentlemen that ever en- 
tered public life. Between these kindred spirits it was a 
case of "love at first sight," and the warmth of their 
friendship never diminished.^ In the spring of i860. Gov- 
ernor Dennison appointed Mr. Cox Brigadier-General of 
the Ohio Militia. It was intended by the Governor as a 
compliment, and regarded by his friends at home as a good 
joke. On his return to Warren, after the first session of 
the Legislature, they planned a little reception for him at 
the house of John Hutchins, M. C, and made witty 
speeches of congratulation, in which the " battle of Quim- 
by Hill," the "crossing of the Mahoning," and the "cap- 
ture of Stevens Point" were enumerated as achievements 
of the "future Napoleon," They had ransacked the book- 
stores and found some old books which they presented 
him, — "Army Regulations," Muller's "Field Engineer," 
published at L-ondon in 1760, and "Forbes' Volunteer's 
Manual." He accepted their badinage in good part, re- 
plied in a humorous vein; then, suddenly changing his 
tone, he spoke with deep earnestness about the possibility 
of coming war, foreshadowed by the troubles in "bleeding 
Kansas," the Wellington Rescue, the John Brown raid, the 
determination of the South to extend slavery, and their 
growing arrogance in the Halls of Congress. He made a 
serious study of these books, presented to him in jest. He 
read Napier's Peninsular War and other military histories. 
Not finding all he wanted, he purchased Hardee's "Rifle 
and Light Infantry Tactics" and Jomini's great works on 
"Grand Military Operations" and "Napoleon," with their 
valuable maps and plans of battle. He studied these, as 

1 In honor of this friend, General Cox named his youngest son, born at 
Columbus, December 8, 1867, Dennison Cox. 

19 



he did everything else he undertook, with a determination 
to master the science. The very landscape took on for 
him a new interest, as presenting a possible field of con- 
flict. He and Garfield got out their war books and maps, 
and studied military problems together, during the session 
of 1 860-6 1. 

After the firing on Sumter and the call for troops, he 
devoted himself day and night to assisting the Governor 
to enroll and equip the volunteers for service. He was 
commissioned "Brigadier-General of Ohio State Volun- 
teers," April 23, 186 r. If any man had good excuses for 
not going to war, he was one. His friend Garfield urged 
him not to go. He had a family, consisting of a wife and 
six children, the oldest thirteen years, and the youngest 
three months old. They lived in a house which was 
mortgaged to secure the payment of a large part of the 
purchase money. He was delicate in appearance and, two 
years before, had been for days at the point of death, from 
quinsy, due to exposure on one of his professional journeys 
in an open sleigh. He had a serious attack of diphtheria 
in January, 1861. How long could such a man stand the 
rigors of camp life and service in the open field? 

He was not carried away by enthusiasm. He indulged in 
no illusions as to the nature of war's perils. He felt that a 
bullet might find him in the first skirmish and lay him low. 
What then would become of his family? Nevertheless, 
some one must go, and who, if not a leader of the Repub- 
lican party? He resolved to do his duty, and leave all the 
consequences to his Heavenly Father. He just as truly 
gave up his life for his country, the day he accepted his 
commission, as any man who died on the field of battle. 
He gave it, once for all, and was never troubled, or in 
doubt about it, afterwards. This was the secret of his 
steadfast courage and unshrinking performance of duty on 
many bloody fields and in many perilous situations. His 



courage was not whiskey-fed; nor did lie work himself up 
into a frenzy, and go charging about with the " light of 
battle" in his eye, as many did, who perhaps would have 
gone to the rear, if they had allowed themselves to think. 
He felt that the lives and the honor of his men were com- 
mitted to his care ; he must keep a cool head at all times ; 
think quickly ; act intelligently ; and if the messenger of 
death came, as it might at any moment, it would find him 
doing his full duty. His constant study for the welfare of 
his men and their proper conduct on the march, in camp 
and on the battle-field, doubtless steadied his nerves. He 
could not worry about himself, when there were so many 
others to worry about. It is marvelous how his life was 
spared. He never received a scratch. He never had a 
horse killed under him, although at South Mountain, An- 
tietam, Resaca, Franklin, and Kinston officers, men, and 
horses were killed all around him.^ A bullet cut off the 

1 At the battle of South Mountain he directed the movements of the 
Ninth Army Corps from early morning until five! o'clock in the after- 
noon, when General Reno, its commander, came on ttie field. He spoke 
a few words to General Cox, rode a little to one side, and was brought 
back in fifteen minutes-dead. At Resaca, he was conferring with Gen- 
erals Manson and Harker when a shell exploded in their midst, wound- 
ing Barker, and so injuring Manson that he was compelled to retire from 
the service. In the Atlanta Campaign he was riding with one of his aides 
through a densely wooded country when they suddenly came out on a 
rebel rifle pit and were welcomed by a discharge of musketry. His aide 
fell dead and he heard the scream of bullets all about him, but not one 
touched him. In the battle of Franklin he rode to the center just as the 
break occurred. His horse plunged violently and trembled all over with 
fear. One of his aides was killed at his side. General Stanley came rid- 
ing up, and in an instant his horse was shot down and Stanley himself 
received a wound in the neck which bled profusely, compelled him to 
retire, and practically disabled him for the rest of the war. At the sec- 
ond battle of Kinston, the firing seemed to be concentrated for a time on 
the General. General Greene, of his staff, had his horse shot under him, 
one orderly had an arm taken off by a shell, two others were wounded, 
and several horses were killed. Yet, when it was all over. General Cox 
sat uninjured and unmoved, peering through his field-glass to see what 
extra force was needed, if any, to repel the assault. 



21 



lower half of his scabbard at Antietam,^ and that was the 
only missile of death that ever left its mark on his personal 
outfit. 

The juvenile impression of a general, as one who goes 
charging about, waving a bloody sword and roaring out 
commands and oaths learned in Flanders, was also the 
popular one for a time ; and even the soldiers were long in 
learning that an ounce of quiet thought is worth a pound 
of swagger and pretense. General Cox was a quiet man 
and, except in great emergencies, like the crisis at Frank- 
lin, issued his orders in writing, and sent them through 
his aides. There was nothing of the theatrical in his 
make-up. Transferred from one command to another 
many times, he had difficulties with both men and officers, 
who at first misunderstood his manner, distrusted his abil- 
ity, and supposed they could take liberties. They soon 
learned that this quiet man had mastered his profession, 
knew what was due to his position, and was nearly as re- 
spectful of se// as'he was of others^ and, when it became 
necessary to check presumption, they felt the grip of the 
iron hand beneath the velvet glove. There were some 
good officers who were loud and showy, and made splendid 
figures in battle. Hooker, Hancock, Logan, are types; 
but as the war progressed, men learned to rely more and 
more on the quiet men, who applied their hearts unto wis- 
dom and vaunted not themselves — the silent Grant, the 
modest, unassuming McPherson, the dignified Thomas, the 
Christian gentleman, Oliver O. Howard. The noisy, fussy 
"dogs of war" were kept in the backyard. The modest, 
thoughtful men could be relied on to do their duty ; the 
haughty and vainglorious were apt to wreck the enter- 
prises committed to their care, while puffing themselves, 
and seeking their personal aggrandizement at the expense 
of others, chiefly men in the ranks. 

^In this action his corps lost 2,349 men out of 13,819. 
22 



A brief outline of General Cox's more important military 
services is all that is possible in the space at my disposal. 
In July, 1861, he was sent to the Kanawha Valley with 
only 3,400 men, to drive out Wise with 4,000 men. Mc- 
Clellan ordered him to detach one of his regiments to Rip- 
ley and another to Guyandotte, places one hundred miles 
apart by the river, thus reducing his column of attack to 
about 2,000. Either McClellan had unbounded confidence 
in General Cox, or he designed that he should be defeated, 
in order to add lustre to his own achievements. He him- 
self had taken 20,000 troops, the picked regiments of Ohio 
and Indiana, to oppose an army no larger than Wise's. 
General Cox advanced as far as Tyler Mountain, where he 
found the enemy entrenched, and was obliged to wait un- 
til his detached regiments could join him. He then flanked 
Wise out of his position, drove him up the valley, occu- 
pied Charleston and Gauley Bridge, and captured 1,500 
stand of arms and large stores of munitions of war. Wise 
was reenforced by Floyd with 4,000 more men. General 
Cox's force was weakened by the withdrawal of the Twelfth 
and Twenty-first Ohio. He fortified Gauley Bridge, estab- 
lished advanced posts, kept scouting parties moving in all 
directions, and by his activity deceived the enemy and 
kept 7,800 at bay for more than a month with only 1,800. 
In September General Rosecrans came with additional 
troops and took command, and, not long after, Floyd occu- 
pied Cotton Mountain, on the opposite side of the New 
River, from which his cannon commanded Gauley Bridge 
and the road from Charleston by which all the supplies were 
hauled to the Union Army. Rosecrans sent two large col- 
umns to intercept Floyd's retreat and, later, ordered General 
Cox to attack in front. He ferried his troops across, and with 
the Eleventh Ohio and First and Second Kentucky scaled 
the almost perpendicular cliffs, and drove Floyd off — a 
most remarkable feat of arms — but the other commanders 

23 



did not put in an appearance, and Floyd got away. In his 
official report of this campaign General Rosecrans said : — 

"It is a great pleasure to say to the commanding General, 
that I have found General Cox prudent, brave, and soldier- 
ly, and I especially commend his prudence and firmness in 
occupying Cotton Hill." 

During the winter he was left in charge of the District, 
with headquarters at Charleston. The time was spent in 
perfecting the drill and discipline of his troops. At one 
time he was ordered to take his three oldest Ohio regi- 
ments and join Buell in Kentucky, and would have been 
glad to go; but Rosecrans protested vigorously, saying, 
among other things, "General Cox is the only reliable man 
here," and the order was countermanded, so far as Gen- 
eral Cox was concerned. This is one of those circumstances 
that speak louder than words. No one of his commanders 
was ever willing to have General Cox leave him.^ 

In the spring General Rosecrans was relieved, and Gen- 
eral Cox was left in supreme command of the Kanawha 
district. He reported to General Fremont, in April, that 
he had 8,500 seasoned troops, fit for any service. 

After McClellan's defeat in the Seven Days' Battles, Gen- 
eral Cox was ordered to join Pope with one division of 
3,500 men, known in the east as the " Kanawha Division." 
They marched ninety miles over rough mountain roads 
with all their baggage and arms, in three days and a half, 
took steamer down the Kanawha and up the Ohio to Par- 
kersburg, and went thence by rail to Washington, where 
General Cox was stationed in the forts on Upton's and 
Munson's hills, the key to the defenses of Washington. 

After the defeat of Pope, Lee invaded Maryland, and the 
Army of the Potomac set out in pursuit — the Kanawha 

1 They all recognized that here was a man of intelligence and high 
character who would do his duty at all times and places, and do it fear- 
lessly and well. 

24 



Division leading the advance. The stalwart appearance 
of the men on the march, their endurance, their prompt- 
ness in starting and their freedom from straggling, excited 
much admiring comment, and this reflected honor on their 
commander. They encountered the enemy's rear-guard at 
the Monocacy, and drove it back through Frederick. 

On the second day after, they charged and carried the 
heights of South Mountain at Fox's Gap, about nine o'clock 
in the morning, and held their ground against repeated at- 
tacks, until the rest of the Ninth Corps came up to their 
support in the afternoon. It was five hours from the time 
of the first charge, until the first supports reached them, 
and they had carried the heights and held them against 
more than double their own force.^ This habit of taking 
advanced positions and holding on against all odds, until 
supports arrived, became characteristic of General Cox. 
After the death of General Reno,^ the command of the 
Ninth Corps devolved on General Cox, and he retained it un- 
til after the battle of Antietam, and directed all its move- 
ments on that bloody field. After the so-called " Burnside 
bridge " had been carried by a gallant charge and the corps 
placed in battle array on the opposite side of the Antietam, 
he advanced steadily, driving the enemy before him, and 
had reached the outskirts of Sharpsburg, when he was at- 
tacked in left and rear by A. P. Hill's fresh division com- 
ing up from Harper's Ferry, clad in new Federal uniforms 
and well supplied with Federal guns and ammunition. 

The Ninth Corps changed front and held its ground, but. 
the advance on Sharpsburg was checked. General Couch, 
who had been instructed to "observe" A. P. Hill, neither 
prevented Hill's coming nor came himself; McClellan 
would not send any of the 26,000 troops held in reserve to 

^ The losses of the Kanawha Division in this action were 442 killed and 
wounded. Colonel (afterwards President) Hayes was among the wounded. 
-See ante, page 21, note. 

25 



the support of General Cox, and the opportunity for then 
and there destroying Lee's army was lost. On the recom- 
mendations of Generals Burnside and McClellan, General 
Cox was appointed Major-General of United States Volun- 
teers "for gallant and meritorious services in the battles of 
South Mountain and Antietam," October 6, 1862. 

The promotion had been fully earned. He had success- 
fully stood every test that could be applied. As an inde- 
pendent commander in the field he had advanced and held 
his own against heavy odds. He had brought the army in 
West Virginia to a high state of discipline and efficiency. He 
had commanded a corps at South Mountain and Antietam 
with conspicuous ability. His fitness to command was 
emphasized by what had happened in West Virginia dur- 
ing his absence and by what he accomplished on his re- 
turn, for he was sent back to West Virginia immediately 
after his promotion. Colonel Lightburn, a loyal West Vir- 
ginia officer, was left in command of the district with 5,000 
troops, when General Cox was summoned to Washington. 
The Confederate General Loring moved against him with 
an equal force, and Colonel Lightburn, instead of holding 
his ground — as General Cox had done the year before, with 
barely a third of his forces — beat a hasty retreat, burn- 
ing bridges, and destroying large quantities of stores at 
Gauley Bridge and Charleston. 

When General Cox was sent back to West Virginia, his 
Kanawha Division was detached to go with him, but was 
stopped at Hancock, ordered on other service, and never 
reached him. General Cox retook Charleston and Gauley 
Bridge, and reoccupied all his former positions, with the 
very troops that had retreated, and against the very troops 
that had driven them out. He remained in command of 
the district during the winter. Considering the means at 
his disposal, no army officer, east or west, had made a bet- 
ter record. He rested easy in the assurance that his ap- 

26 



pointment as Major-General thus earned, would be prompt- 
ly confirmed, and that he would again be placed in com- 
mand of a corps. But the Senate claimed that Lincoln 
had exceeded his authority in appointing nine new major- 
generals. Lincoln claimed that the law authorizing an in- 
crease of the army was authority enough for appointing 
additional officers to command the new troops. The con- 
troversy was carried on all the winter, and just before ad- 
journment Congress authorized the appointment of thirty 
major-generals, twenty-one more than the President had 
already appointed. Surely General Cox would be con- 
firmed ! But no ! some understanding was reached by 
which the President withdrew his appointments, and sent 
in a new list, satisfactory to members of Congress, and Gen- 
eral Cox's name was not on the list ! 

The reasons — such as they were — may be briefly stated, 
(i) General McClellan had been relieved of his command 
under such circumstances as made his recommendation a 
detriment, instead of a help. (2) General Cox had disap- 
peared from the Army of the Potomac, and was doing his 
duty in the comparative obscurity of West Virginia. (3) 
He was not a West-Pointer, and the natural jealousy of this 
class, who had practical control of the War Department, 
was against him. (4) As a politician, he was not known 
beyond the borders of Ohio, and there was no one to urge 
his appointment on political grounds. Vacancies occurred 
frequently thereafter, but there was always some one on 
hand to fill them, who had friends in the War Department 
or in Congress.^ 

^ General Cox was twenty-fourth on the list of brigadiers when first 
appointed. All but seven of his ranking officers had been promoted, and 
four of the remaining seven resigned. Eighty-three of his juniors were 
promoted over his head, many of whom held rank below that of colonel, 
while he was commanding a corps. It was General Cox's fortune to 
serve during the war under no less than ten officers who were his own 
juniors in 1861. There were no sound military reasons why, at the time 

27 



It was a great disappointment, and all the more dis- 
couraging from the fact, which now became evident, 
that no volunteer officer could attain high rank, no matter 
what his services, unless he had a "political pull." The 
question has sometimes been tauntingly asked, "What vol- 
unteer officer ever won great distinction as commander of 
an army in the field? Grant, Sherman, Thomas, Sheridan, 
and Schofield were all West-Pointers," So also were some 
of the greatest failures of the war. The question may be 
answered by another, "What volunteer, who was not a prom- 
inent politician like Banks, or Butler, was ever given a 
chance to command a great army in the field?" But General 
Cox did not enter the army for rank or glory, and, discour- 
aging as his treatment was, he continued to render distin- 
guished service in his old rank of brigadier-general for 
nearly two years more before he was finally promoted, on 
the urgent and oft-repeated recommendations of Generals 
Schofield, Sherman, and Thomas. From April to Decem- 
ber, 1863, he was in command of the military district of 
Ohio. During that time he directed the movements that 
resulted in the capture of John Morgan and his raiders, and 
defeated a plot to release the Confederate prisoners on John- 
son's Island, Sandusky Bay. In December, 1863, he went 
to East Tennessee, at the request of Burnside, to take com- 
mand of the Twenty-third Army Corps. In the spring, 
the Twenty-third Corps joined Sherman for the Atlanta 
Campaign, and the part assigned it was a most important 
one. While Thomas, with the Army of the Cumberland, 
held the center strongly, it executed flanking movements 
first on one side, and then on the other. General Cox, as 
ranking brigadier, was in actual command of the corps 
much of the time, and his work in this campaign alone 

of their appointment, any of these, except Thomas and Burnside, should 
have had the preference over General Cox, and if I were to name most 
of the others, few would be able to recall what they had done to de- 
serve such promotion. 

28 



would stamp him as the peer of any officer in that army, 
except possibly Sherman himself. Troops engaged in 
flanking operations must be able to make long and rapid 
marches, to intrench quickly, and hold on tenaciously 
when they reach their goal. There must be mutual trust 
and confidence between them and their commander. He 
must feel that they will do all that he asks them to do, 
and they must feel that he will call upon them to endure 
no unnecessary hardships and encounter no needless perils. 
He must be alert, quick to see and occupy a position which 
not only enfilades the enemy's line or threatens his com- 
munications, but is capable of being defended against 
heavy odds until supports can be brought up. The work 
requires independent judgment, courage, intelligence, self- 
reliance, and reliance upon the commander-in-chief. " Hold 
the fort, for I am coming," is always understood. During 
the Atlanta Campaign his command became so expert in 
the matter of field entrenchments that it could cover its 
whole front with earthworks in fifteen minutes. 

Before Dalton he held a position on the extreme left 
flank, cut off from the rest of the army by a high and 
rocky ridge. His opponent in the trenches was that fierce 
fighter, John B. Hood. When the movement on Resaca 
commenced, he was directed to withdraw from his perilous 
position, and did so, in the face of the enemy and in broad 
daylight, marching his second line to the rear, making it 
lie down and, when it was in position, retiring his first 
line to its rear, and so on until the movement was com- 
pleted. It was so well ordered that the enemy did not 
dare to attack. Both Schofield and Sherman were enthu- 
siastic. In his official report, Schofield said, the movement 
was "a delicate and difficult one, owing to the character of 
the ground, the position and strength of the enemy, and 
our comparative isolation from the main army," and added, 
"I regarded it as a complete test of the quality of my 

29 



troops, which I had not before had opportunity of seeing 
manoeuvre in the presence of the enemy." Sherman sent 
his congratulations, saying, "It was described to me by 
Captain Poe, as seen from the mountain, as very hand- 
some." 

At Resaca, General Cox with his division carried and 
held a very important salient on the right of the rebel 
lines. In that action his division lost 562 men. At Cass- 
ville. General Johnston had drawn up the rebel army in 
line of battle, and issued orders for a general engagement. 
General Cox appeared in a threatening position on the 
right flank of his army, Hood and Polk sent word that 
their position was untenable, and Johnston retreated, in- 
stead of fighting. While the battle of Kennesaw was rag- 
ing. General Cox on the extreme right of the army made 
a "demonstration," as it was called, to attract the enemy's 
attention, and draw off troops from the center. As a mat- 
ter of fact, he seized and held a commanding eminence, 
three miles from the Union lines, threatening Johnston's 
communications, and forced him to retreat across the Chat- 
tahoochee after having won the battle of Kennesaw. At 
the close of the Atlanta Campaign, General Schofield earn- 
estly recommended General Cox's promotion, saying, 
among other things, — 

"I have no hesitation in saying I have never seen a 
more able and efficient division commander. General 
Cox is possessed of a very high order of talent and supe- 
rior education. As a commander he is discreet, ener- 
getic, and brave. As a just reward for long, faithful, 
and efficient service, and as an act of justice to the army 
and the country, I earnestly recommend that Brigadier- 
General J. D. Cox be appointed Major-General of Volun- 
teers." 

General Sherman forwarded this recommendation to Gen- 
eral Hallock, indorsing General Cox as an "actual divi- 

30 



sion commander," "of marked courage, capacity, and 
merit," "qualified to separate command." 

General Cox commanded the Twenty-third Corps through- 
out the Franklin and Nashville campaign. After Hood 
had crossed the Duck River above Columbia, and was 
pushing for the rear of the Union army, General Cox 
held the crossing at Columbia until after nightfall, when 
he withdrew and marched to Spring Hill, eleven miles 
north of Columbia. Near that place they found the ad- 
vance of Hood's army encamped so near the road along 
which they had to march, that our men could see their 
camp-fires and hear their voices. When asked what he 
would have done, if the rebels had attacked him in flank 
as he was passing by, General Cox said, quietly, "We were 
all prepared ; our men would have faced to the right ; our 
flank would have become our front ; and the rebels would 
have had a fight." Reaching Spring Hill at midnight. 
General Cox was directed to go on to Franklin, twelve 
miles farther, and entrench a position so as to protect the 
crossing of the Harpeth River at that point. So, after 
fighting all day on November 29th and marching all night, 
the Twenty-third Corps took up a position at daybreak, 
just south of the town of Franklin, fortified a line about a 
mile long, and then lay down in the trenches to sleep. 
The trains and their own artillery came in and passed 
north through the town. The artillery of the Fourth 
Corps was placed in the line of defense, and Opdycke's 
Brigade was held in reserve, just back of the center.^ Two 
brigades of the Fourth Corps remained in an exposed 
position in front, until overrun and driven in by the 
charge of the Confederates. Our men reserved their 
fire at the center, so as not to kill their own comrades, 
and the Confederates charged up to and carried the 
breastworks and one battery of artillery, before any effect- 

^ Opdycke was a graduate of the " Home Literary Union " at Warren. 

31 



ive resistance could be offered. The little army in the 
trenches was threatened with destruction. General Cox rode 
to the center, shouting, waving his hat, and encouraging 
his men. The rebel yelling and the crash of musketry 
at short range was appalling.^ He never expected to 
come out of the melee alive. Then Opdycke charged. 
The men who had been driven from the breastworks 
rallied ; a new line was entrenched, slightly in rear of 
the other, and that line was held steadily against all 
assaults of the enemy. There was not a sign of wav- 
ering in any other part of the line, and the firing was 
so well sustained that the rebels who lived to think, 
thought all our men were armed with repeating rifles. The 
attack began about four o'clock, and in less than two hours 
the fighting was practically over. Twenty-four thousand 
Confederates had attacked ten thousand Union men, and 
been repulsed with a loss of six thousand three hundred, 
twenty-six per cent of their whole number. Their losses 
included six generals killed, six wounded, and one cap- 
tured; six colonels killed, fifteen wounded, and two 
missing. In fact, in many brigades every officer above 
the grade of captain was disabled. Thirty-three battle- 
flags were captured. The percentage of the killed was 
unusually large, the actual number being greater than 
Grant's at Shiloh, McClellan's in the Seven Days' Bat- 
tles, Burnside's at Fredericksburg, Hooker's at Chan- 
cellorsville, Rosecrans's at Stone's River or Chicka- 
mauga, or Wellington's at Waterloo. This was the su- 
preme test of General Cox and his command. To borrow 
the language of Cromwell, it was his "crowning mercy." 
The spirit of Hood's army was broken and, at the battle of 
Nashville, when they held the trenches and our meii did 
the assaulting, they were driven from the field in disorder. 

^See ante, page 21, note. 
32 



Again, on December 19, 1864, Schofield pressed for the 
promotion of General Cox in a letter addressed to Halleck, 
in which he said : — 

^ "It is unnecessary to recite, in detail, the service of so 
distinguished an officer. He has merited promotion 
scores of times by skillful and heroic conduct in as 
many battles. He is one of the very best division com- 
manders I have ever seen, and has often shown himself 
qualified for a higher command. . . . An officer cannot 
exercise for three years a command which he is uni- 
versally admitted to be eminently qualified for and yet 
be denied the corresponding rank while his juniors, noto- 
riously less deserving, are promoted, without feeling such 
mortification and chagrin as must drive him from the 
army. Excuse, General, the earnestness with which I re- 
fer to this matter. I do not exaggerate the merits of the 
case; on the contrary I do not half state it." 

On December 20th, General Thomas forwarded this with 
his own recommendation, stating that, 

"his services in the Atlanta campaign entitle him to the 
promotion asked for, and at the battle of Franklin he 
was eminently distinguished for personal courage as well 
as for the skillful management of his command." 

At last the War Department was moved to act, and Gen- 
eral Cox was commissioned Major-General as of December 
7, 1864. 

Not long after the battle of Nashville, the Twenty-third 
Corps was transferred to North Carolina. General Cox 
commanded an expedition up the right bank of the Cape 
Fear River, captured Fort Anderson, with many cannon, 
and a fortified post at Town Creek, with two cannon and 
four hundred prisoners, and flanked the rebels out of Wil- 
mington. He was then sent to Beaufort and put in charge 
of troops he had never met before, with instructions to 
move on Kinston and Goldsborough, rebuilding the rail- 
road as he went. At Kinston he fought and won two bat- 

33 



ties against General Bragg, with superior forces, among 
whom were found a large part of Hood's old army, and 
after that, so far as General Cox was concerned, the fight- 
ing was over. While he was engaged in the performance 
of his duties as district commander at Greensborough, and 
winning the confidence and regard of his late enemies by 
his uniform fairness and courtesy, he was nominated for 
Governor of Ohio, by acclamation, at the "Union" Con- 
vention held in Columbus, June 21, 1865. At a ratifica- 
tion meeting held that evening Senator Sherman said, 
speaking of the ticket, — 

"It is headed by a gentleman who is not only a soldier, 
but a statesman and scholar — a man of the highest and 
purest character — a man who, in all the walks of life, will 
be a model for us all. I thank you for that nomination — 
although I believe the people made it before the conven- 
tion met." 

Time will not permit a review of his subsequent career. 
I will mention but one circumstance. Just before leaving 
Oberlin, on the trip from which he never returned, he 
handed the College librarian a list of books he had read 
and reviewed for the Nation and some historical magazines 
since January i, 1898, which he wished to add to the 
library he had already given to the college. They num- 
bered eighty-three volumes. And this was the recreation 
of a man who had retired from active work ! The great 
lesson of his life is the importance of doing one's whole 
duty, in whatever circumstances one is placed, and leav- 
ing rewards and other consequences to Him who is Lord 
over all. This involves honesty, energy, self-denial, and 
unflinching courage. Another lesson is the importance of 
reserving some time for "thought, study, and feeling" 
apart from the routine of daily business. The man who 
suffers himself to "get into a rut" will never be fit for any- 
thing outside of that rut. The last to which I will call 

34 



attention is the importance of unremitting industry. If 
one cannot accustom himself to do more work than other 
men, he cannot rise above other men. If one is able and 
willing to work more hours than his neighbor, or to work 
faster or to better advantage while he does work, he will 
outstrip him in the race of life. Nothing came to Gen- 
eral Cox as a matter of mere fortune. He was Jit for 
everything he undertook to do, and he was called because 
he was fit. 



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